Pain Of The Velvet Box
by Wirral Bagpuss
Summary: Dr Watson is kidnapped by a vicious gang and Sherlock Holmes has to help Watson overcome the horrendous consequences of his ordeal. Will he succeed?
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or Dr Watson. However i do enjoy playing with them for a while !! :)**_

**Chapter One**

Sherlock Holmes slumped against a tree catching his breath and waited. He looked at his surroundings. It was a heavily forested woodland, the sound of a stream trickling nearby, the afternoon sun was slowly sinking, it's fingers still wrapped lovingly around the many oak trees now silhouetted against the early evening dusk. Holmes closed his eyes and his mind flashed back to events that had taken place at 221B Baker Street, only two days ago.

_Holmes had been sitting by the winter coal fire, which blocked out the cold damp windy day that engulfed London and was waiting for his Boswell to return home. He had been worried about he good doctor, and had seen how Watson had been overworking himself once more, looking tired and ill as he struggled to cope with a particularly bad outbreak of influenza that had struck particularly hard this winter. Sighing he picked up the anonymous letter that had been revived earlier that day. It simply read "Stop investigating the Brixton Murder or face the consequences". Holmes had no doubt that the murder of Brixton had just been the tip of the iceberg, there was something far more complicated going on and he had been determined to find out what, despite the threat now received. His suspicions had only increased further on a visit to Scotland Yard and meeting Inspector Lestrade who discussed further details of the case and the background to the Brixton family. A large quantity of cocaine had been found, far more than for personal use. Holmes got up from his chair and started pacing. This was all wrong, something was not right, he could not lay his finger on it yet, but knew something was amiss. He picked up a match and cigarette and tried to light it but the match failed to strike and Holmes angrily tossed it into the burning fire. Holmes was worried, not just about this case but about Watson, it was getting dark and he was late. _

_There was a knock at the door and Mrs Hudson came in with a telegram in her hand which she handed to Holmes. Hurriedly Holmes ripped open the telegram and read the contents. He let out am anguished cry as he let the telegram fall from his fingers to the carpet as he held onto the mantelpiece as his legs threatened to give way. They had captured Watson. And they were going to kill him. _

Holmes opened his eyes once more and forced them to adjust to the encroaching darkness. He had not slept or eaten since that telegram slipped from his fingers. Holmes had traced Watson's last known movements and followed the evidence and the subsequent trail that had led him to this dense woodland. Holmes moved forward and found the clearing he had been looking for. In the middle was a small wooded cabin. He saw a room lit. _Watson was in there_ thought Holmes as he moved forward. He would show no mercy to anyone who had harmed his dear friend and associate. Holmes reached inside his coat and his hands clasped on familiar cold metal. Watson's old service revolver.

Wasting no further time, Holmes ran forward towards the cabin and kicked the front door open. The occupants were startled and before they had a chance to react, Holmes overpowered them and two burly men, roughly shaven and shabbily dressed were lying unconscious on the floor. Holmes spared no thought for them as he moved from the front room and into the bedroom. What he saw made his blood turn as cold as ice and then his hot temper began to take over as he took in the full scene before him. Someone was torturing his Boswell. A man was leaning over a huddled form, viciously yanking him up, the chains rattling as he did so. He thrust a needle into the victim's neck and discharged the contents, laughing as he threw him back hard against the wall like a broken rag doll. His laughter soon turned to fear as he heard a blood curling animalistic cry of rage from behind him and barely had time to turn before he felt himself being hurled aside and slammed into a beside table and chair, breaking upon impact. Holmes lunged forward for the man once more and hit him again and again until his nose cracked and he himself was thrown down like a rag doll onto the cold floor. Holmes secured Watson's' torturer and hurriedly rushed towards the crumpled form of Watson.

Gently, Holmes turned Watson over and took in a deep intake of breath when he saw the sight before him. Watson was shivering badly, his shirt missing, needle marks were evident all over his arm. Watson was moaning at the sudden movement, pain etched on his face. He tried to call out to Watson, giving him comfort, but to very little effect, Watson was too drugged and in too much pain to barely register. Holmes carefully probed Watson's torso and felt at least one broken rib. Holmes frowned at the chains holding his Watson securely. He took out a small bundle from his inside pocket of his coat and unrolled the bundle to reveal a set of tools. Holmes picked one and began to work on the locks of Watson's manacles. It did not take him long to free Watson and as he released the manacles from Watson's wrists, he caught his friend as his dead weight slumped forward into his. Only Holmes knew this was as much an embrace of his affection and concern for Watson as it was about supporting his falling friend. To his surprise as he held Watson in his arms, hazel eyes greeted him, dull as they were in his drugged state. Watson struggled to talk, coughing badly as he did so and violent spasms of pain racked his body.

"It's alright Watson, I am here now, try not to talk, I'll get you out of here …" said Holmes gently as he rocked his Boswell tightly cradled in his arms.

Watson held onto Holmes and smiled weakly, and barely able to speak, whispered softly

"Holmes…knew you would come…" His response was cut short as a spasm of white hot pain lanced his body once more and Watson succumbed to the temporary release of unconsciousness as his body shut down.

Holmes placed a soothing hand on his friend's head. It was hot and beads of sweat ran down his forehead. He had to get Watson home, safe and away from this dreadful place. He wrapped Watson in blankets and lifted him up as he stood up, and carried him out of the cabin and back from where he had come, to a waiting horse and cart. He carefully lifted Watson's still form onto it and got on the drivers seat himself, not once letting go of Watson. He took up the reigns and the horse stirred into action, and Holmes headed toward the railway station.

On reaching the station Holmes pulled up the horse and the cart came to a halt. Watson was slumped heavily against the detective, his body twitching and tremors wracking his body despite the blankets wrapped tightly round him. A firm but gentle hand laid on Watson's shoulder and soft words spoken which had the effect of calming the badly hurt doctor. Holmes jumped down from the diver's seat and carefully lifted Watson back into his arms ands he made his way to the station platform, gently placing him on a seat in the waiting room. He then diverted his attention to the Station Master instructing him to inform the local police of the villains now secured in the log cabin and then wired Inspector Lestrade informing him of developments. Business taken care of he sat down next to Watson, placing his arm around him in support. He knew of the hard journey that faced both of them. A grim line of determination etched across his hawk like features. He reached inside his coat pocket and felt the familiar material of his velvet box. He was all too aware of the pain its contents contained. As Holmes carried Watson onto the train back to London, once thought held him firm. _I may choose to take the seven percent solution, but I will not see my Boswell permanently held hostage by the pull of the velvet box_. I swear to you Watson, I will help you through this my dear friend.

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_**OOOH! What will happen now? Poor Holmes to have to face Watson under threat of being addicted to the same drug as he is. Hope you enjoyed it. More comming soon !! :)**_


	2. Chapter 2

**_So here it is, the next installment of the story !! Hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter!! :)_**

**Chapter Two**

It had been over an hour since Dr Anstruther had been with Watson treating his injuries, before he finally came out of Holmes's bedroom and closed he door behind him. Holmes leapt up from his chair and approached Anstruther. He was worried. _Only two hours earlier he had finally arrived at Baker Street, carrying Watson up the seventeen steps and carefully laying him on his bed. He had decided to give his own bedroom over to Watson, too tired to climb the extra stairs to Watson's room. An alarmed Mrs Hudson had taken in the scene and was dispatched to fetch Dr Anstruther to come to Baker Street. Watson had been shivering violently, lashing out deliriously. Holmes feared for Watson as he knew the effects of drugs had on a man and was all too aware of the dangers of too much drugs being injected. He also knew that the violent shivering and spasms had probably caused further injury to Watson's ribs. _

"Mr Holmes, I am afraid that Dr Watson is going to need a lot of care and attention over the next few weeks. He is weak from malnutrition and severely dehydrated. He has two broken ribs, but what is of most concern is the amount of cocaine and other substances in his body. Not to mention the signs of exhaustion. I would like to take him into the care of Charing Cross Hospital where we have the facilities to treat the Doctor for the effects of this..." said Anstruther who was clearly making plans for Watson's stay and treatment.

Holmes raised a hand effectively silencing Dr Anstruther.

"No, thank you, that will not be necessary. Dr Watson will remain here in Baker Street. I will ensure he gets the care he needs. Both Mrs Hudson and I will see to that. Good day Doctor" said Holmes who dismissed him with a flick of his hand, signalling that the conversation was at an end.

An exasperated Dr Anstruther tried to reason with an increasingly angered detective.

"But sir, Mr Holmes! I must protest, Dr Watson needs to be treated by professional medical staff".

Holmes lost all vestige of patience and opened the door which led out of the living room and downstairs.

"Goodbye Doctor, Dr Watson will be well taken care of here. Anstruther left the room and Holmes shut the door behind him and leant back against it. He knew the kind of care Anstruther meant. He took his velvet box out of his coat pocket and sat down, opening it. He saw the syringes placed against the velvet cushion. The syringes were empty and the small bottle of cocaine looked inviting, He snapped it shut and threw it across the couch and placed his head in his hands. He never imagined he would face this, Watson fighting the demons he had so readily welcomed into his body. His head jerked upwards as he heard Watson moaning, almost crying out and then his heart wrenched as he heard his name being called. Holmes stood up and walked towards the bedroom door. He was not about to let his Boswell down. He would help Watson fight his uninvited demons. And perhaps in doing so he would confront some of his own.

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_** Yikes !! Holmes really IS having to face up to his demons now but not in the way he had anticipated !! Will Holmes be able to help Watson get through the battle that lies ahead? All will soon be revealed :) All reviews and comments welcomed. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**_Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed this story and for all the story alerts !! I am thrilled you are enjoying this story !!! Well as promised here is Chapter Three !! So with out further ado, let the story continue !!_**

**Chapter Three**

Holmes entered the darkened rooms. Anstruther had drawn the curtains and turned down the gas. Slowly and hesitantly he made his way to the chair next to the bed and sat down wearily into it. He took in the still form of Watson, the spasms had appeared to have stopped for now, Watson was warm and snug under the layers of blankets that had been put on him. But Watson was not comfortable in his sleep. His face was haggard and drawn with the pain of the broken ribs bothering him and the drugs still slowly working its way of his body. Holmes sighed and picked up Watson's hand. It was cold and clammy, but Holmes held it in his, he would not rest until his Boswell was well again. To his surprise, Holmes saw Watson open his eyes and stare at him. Holmes got up and turned up the gas a little, to allow Watson to see him.

"Holmes…" cried a weak and pain filled voice.

It was only one word, but for Holmes it meant everything and he rested his hand on Watson's forehead and smiled.

"It's alright Watson, I am here, you are safe now, back home". Replied Holmes softly.

Watson blinked and looked round his surroundings and coughed as his dry throat bothered him. Holmes poured out a glass of water and lifted Watson's head, supporting him as Watson drank thirstily. Once he had drunk, Watson slumped back on to his pillows, looking at his friend with a mixture of concern and amusement.

"I don't feel safe…criminal décor staring at me… " said Watson in a tired and ragged voice.

Holmes let out a soft laugh as his Boswell teased him and clasped Watson's hand and squeezed it tightly.

"You look tired Holmes…you must rest…." Watson's flow was cut off as a sudden spasm wracked his body and he clutched at his torso, biting back the pain.

Holmes reached out and supported Watson holding him down until the spasm passed.

"My dear Watson, it is you who needs rest, physician heal thy self!" Muttered Holmes unsteadily as concern of his friend mounted. He knew the spasm did not bode well and was a precursor to what was to come.

"What happened?" croaked Watson unsteadily.

Holmes brought his chair closer to Watson, dreading the news that had to be told. Holmes quietly related to Watson what had happened and how his investigations had led up to finding Watson. And then Holmes told him of the extent of his injuries.

"They beat you severely breaking your ribs, but that is not the real damage. My dear fellow, they injected you with cocaine...they did so over and over again. If I had not found you in time…-"Holmes choked back tears as he could not finish his explanation.

Watson's face drained of what little colour there was and stared at Holmes, before closing his eyes recalling the enforced confinement. _Watson had fought off the first attempt to drug him, lashing out as best as one could with manacles chained to his wrists. But it had been a battle fought in vain as his captors beat him into submission and then forcefully injected the foul substance. And then there was the sudden rush of warmth that engulfed his body and Watson felt the room spin and himself sink down and down, unable to save himself from drowning into a whirlpool of oblivion. Again and again he had fought. He lost track of time, only remembering the pain and wanting to go back into the whirlpool once more. _

Watson opened his eyes once more, tears running down his face and one word penetrated the silence that has engulfed the bedroom

"Nooooooooooooo" cried Watson choking back the mixture of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Watson did not need his extensive medical knowledge to be reminded of the consequences of even just a few days of prolonged abuse. Holmes gripped Watson's shoulders in reassurance as Watson assimilated what Holmes had told him.

"Watson, look at me, we will fight this together, you and I. I will not abandon you, my precious friend"

Holmes continued to grip Watson, as if channelling all of his strength into Watson. A soft groan was released from Watson as another spasm of pain stabbed like knives. Watson clutched at Holmes's arm. He knew the spasms were becoming more painful and stronger as time went on. Fighting the spasms he called out in desperation to Holmes.

"Holmes…please…I don't want to lose you…am frightened…" Watson was cut off as the increasing pain was too much to bear and he lost consciousness.

Gently Holmes lowered Watson back against his pillows and clutched Watson's hands in his. Watson's last lucid statement chilled Holmes to the bone. _I will not lose you Watson; I will fight your demons with you. You will not be alone. _

* * *

_**Oh no !! Poor Holmes. Hands up anyone who thinks he is in for some sleepness nights ! What will happen now? How will they cope as they both face the battle that lies ahead? TBC !!!! **_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Thank you soooooooo much to everyone who have reviewed and added story alerts to this story! I am so sorry to have kept you waiting for this latest instalment. I was unwell over the New Year and then I adopted a rescue cat!!! She is sixteen months old and is called Zilly-Joan. I am looking forward to welcoming her home next weekend! Anyway without further ado, onwards to Chapter Four!! **_

**Chapter Four**

_He was standing at the edge of the Falls. Holmes was dead. Tears flowed freely down Watson's cheeks as he took in the scene before him. The sound of the torrential waterfall grew louder and began to take on a mocking tone. On and on. Watson held his hands to his ears, trying to block out the terrible, __malevonant__ laughter, falling to his knees as he did so. As Watson looked up the scene altered, the waterfall was no longer white and foaming, it was gushing blood. Holmes's blood. And out of the mists came a face. Moriarty, laughing and jeering. Watson screamed out in agony and rage on seeing the face. He fell back, crawling backwards away from the apparition and in terror called out for Holmes over and over again. Holmes appeared, Watson reached out towards Holmes, desperate for the comfort and support of his friend, but wait...Holmes was dead, he died…the falls. Watson cried out for Holmes once more. He felt a strong force of pressure pushing him back. And then Holmes changed. No longer the familiar Bohemian figure he had come to love and protect but instead morphed into Moriarty. Watson screamed._

_Then the scenery changed. He was no longer at the Falls. Where was he? Where was Holmes? Why was it so dark? Watson whimpered as he felt cramps attack his body. He felt weak, nauseous, his head was swimming in the darkness, his legs gave way, but he did not feel himself fall. Something had prevented that. He could not determine what though. Why was it so dark here? I feel so alone here. As if to shut out the darkness, Watson clutched wrapped his arms around himself and sat down in a corner and whimpered. Where was Holmes? What is happening to me? _

_Without warning Watson was plunged into a landscape of fire and heat. The cannons fired, ringing his ears. He was at Maiwand. People collapsing around him, Horses shrieking in fear as the bullets whizzed past them. Watson felt helpless. He wanted to aid the soldiers, but they were dead, all dead. Watson covered his eyes to shut out the sea of blood. He stumbled and then fell over dead bodies. Watson called out for Murray, looking for his orderly. And then saw him dead amongst the fallen. Watson collapsed next to the still form. Clutching Murray in his arms he felt for a pulse and found none. He looked at the face of his Orderly once more, only to find it was not Murray he now held in his arms, but the bloodied body of Holmes. Watson let out a cry of pain and grief, rocking Holmes in his arms protectively. No no no no. cried Watson, as he buried his face into the still form of Holmes. Not Holmes, please God Holmes, you can't be dead, nooo, I failed you... __**HOLMES! **_

_Maiwand dissolved, and Watson was back in the sitting room at Baker Street. My God, that was some nightmare thought Watson grimly as he sat back in his chair by the fire. And then he saw Holmes slumped in his chair, head forward and an arm outstretched rubber band hanging slackly from it. Still holding a syringe in one hand and his cocaine box in the other. Watson rushed forward and grabbed his friend, reaching out and searching for a pulse. There was none to be found. Holmes was dead. Overdosed. He had destroyed himself. Watson cried out in rage and hurt as he held his dead friend, throwing away the vile box into the fire. Holmes, Holmes what have you done? You let that poison destroy you, how could you do that to me? Why would you leave me in this way? Watson broke down completely and cried bitterly, he took up his revolver and held it against his temple. He could not go on living with Holmes dead. And then a voice rang out as clear as a bell, pleading, begging which said simply_

"_Don't give up Watson, you can fight this, I am here, with you" _

_It was a strong commanding voice; Watson dropped the revolver and turned round towards the direction of the voice. It spoke again, calling to him_

"_Watson, please, don't you dare do this to me, fight this" _

_Watson got up and moved towards the voice swaying as he did so and noticed that Baker Street no longer existed and he was now standing on an empty plain. Staggering forward a familiar figure was coming into view._

"_Holmes!" cried out Watson weakly._

_Pushing himself forward, he put one foot in front of the other and stumbled towards his friend. He was tired, so very tired. Watson looked up and found Holmes smiling, his arms outstretched in greeting, reassuring. _

"_Watson, it's alright, you are safe with me. Let me help you rest". _

"_Tired...So tired..." responded Watson wearily, falling asleep in the arms of the one man he regarded as his safe harbour._

Watson awoke to a world of dimmed gaslights and the welcome sight of one very tired detective looking over him.

********

It was not long after Watson had lost consciousness that Holmes soon found himself plunged into a long night struggling to help his ailing Boswell. Holmes helped Watson as he screamed many times during the night as nightmares plagued him. He heard his own name over and over again in the fever filled dreams that haunted Watson. Holmes held Watson tightly in his arms giving him comfort, a sense of security as the nightmares threatened to overwhelm him. And then there was they physical struggle as Watson burned with fever. He repeatedly laid a wet cloth on Watson's forehead and spoke softly to him, reassuring and soothing. Anything that would calm his troubled friend. Worst of all Holmes watched and supported Watson as he retched, the body rejecting the cocaine that was in his body. As the night wore on and watching Watson fight, Holmes thought of only one thing

_Is this what you had to do for me when I was lost to my own form of escape? How many times must you have watched me self inflict myself with the drug with the medical knowledge of what the consequences would be? Oh my dear Watson, what have I done to you my poor friend?_

Holmes looked at the still form of Watson, his body completely exhausted and buried his face in his hands. He could not bear seeing the reflection of himself in Watson. He had failed. He had let his Watson down. He fought off his own cravings for that seven percent solution. He could not take it now and escape into oblivion. Not while Watson was fighting so hard against it. Holmes curled his hands into fists in frustration and his thin aquiline frame shook in anger and frustration. His attention was arrested by the sound of Watson suddenly struggling to breathe. The cocaine was attempting to take away the one and only friend he had ever known. Panic stricken Holmes took hold of Watson and held him firmly.

"Don't give up Watson, you can fight this, I am here, with you…." Commanded Holmes.

Watson struggled and almost choked as his cracked ribs rubbed against one another as he fought for another breath of air. Holmes clutched his Watson once more and drew closer to him, struggling to maintain his composure and to stop his voice from breaking down completely. He had to remain strong.

"Watson, please, don't you dare do this to me, fight this. " Holmes pleaded.

He felt Watson slowly stop struggling and beginning to breathe more easily. Holmes closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer of thanks. Watson had survived the most critical moment of the night. Still holding Watson he was gently laying him back on soft pillows when he saw dulled pain filled hazel orbs meeting his own tired grey ones.

"Holmes..." whispered Watson weakly, too tired to say anymore.

Holmes fought back tears as he tucked the covlet round Watson.

"Shhh, rest Watson, you have had a bad time of it, but it is over now. Sleep my friend; I will still be here when you wake up". Said Holmes raggedly as his own exhaustion tugged away at him.

Watson obeyed, too exhausted to fight anymore and his eyelids closed once more as he slipped away into the arms of Morpheus. Holmes slumped back in his chair. Watson had survived the first battle; he knew there would be more to come. Holmes smiled grimly and as he succumbed to his own exhaustion he reassured himself. _My Watson is a soldier as well as Doctor. He has seen many battles in his time. This would be another. Except this time he will not have to face it alone. _

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_**I hope this was worth the wait !! What will happen to Holmes and Watson now? What lies ahead for them both ? I will be writing more soon!** **:)**_


	5. Chapter 5

**_Authors Note : Thank you sooo much for all your kind reviews and alerts for this story. I am so very touched by that. And apologies for the delay in publishing the next chapter, i have just adopted a 16 month old black cat called Zilly-Joan and she is bringing me so much joy and happiness. I cant imagine not having her now !! Anyway on with the story !!_**

**Chapter Five**

Watson's physical recovery was a slow and arduous one. Dr Anstruther had visited for two successive days, changing Watson's dressings and was satisfied that his ribs were mending well. He could not be as sure as to his frame of mind. On the final day of his house call to Dr Watson, Dr Anstruther discussed his patient's prognosis with Sherlock Holmes.

"Mr Holmes, the doctor's ribs are beginning to heal, but I am concerned about his welfare, he needs professional care and support. The effect of the drugs on him…" Anstruther was cut off in mid flow by Holmes, angrily dismissing what was being suggested

"Dr Anstruther, I will not sit here and let you insult Dr Watson any longer. I am fully aware of his medical needs, I am seeing to them. He would not want to be removed from his home and placed in a sterile hospital ward. He would do better here under the care of myself and Mrs Hudson".

"But Sir, I must protest, his needs will be immense in the following days, I-"Anstruther was silenced by Holmes raising his hand forbidding him from speaking any further.

Holmes got up and opened the door indicating that it was time for Dr Anstruther to leave. The Doctor got up and let out an exasperated sigh.

"Mr Holmes, if you need me, just call for me. I will be here in an instant..." was Anstruther parting shot which only resulted in a glacial stare from a now simmering detective.

Holmes closed the door behind him as Anstruther finally left the sitting room and walked down the seventeen steps and out of Baker Street. He closed his eyes in exhaustion and inhaled deeply.

_How dare he try to suggest that I do not know how to look after my Boswell. I have studied long enough to know full well the effects of such a lethal cocktail of drugs will have on Watson _

Watson slowly awoken to the sound of raised voices. He was tired and struggled to open his eyes. He had fallen back asleep after Anstruther had tendered to him. He tolerated it because he had to. But all Watson wanted was not to face anyone except for Holmes. He recoiled in horror of the memory of his enforced imprisonment. And then the swirling rush of warmth and nothingness as the drugs took over him. _I feel an emptiness_ thought Watson as he categorised the sensations he had felt which were strangely absent now. And then rejected this thought in horror. _I must not, I cannot_. Watson shook his head angrily and then regretted it as it only served to antagonise his injuries and let out a soft moan. And then he remembered. It was the sound of raised voices that had woken him. He recognised them as being Holmes and Anstruther. And then smiled to himself. _Only Holmes would be so determined and forceful. I must stop this from becoming a full scale riot. _ Slowly he got up from his bed and gripped the side of the nearby chair as steadying himself from falling down completely. Sweat broke out on his forehead. Just this small effort was causing him a lot of pain and exhaustion. He staggered toward the door and pushed it open, leaning against the door frame as he did so. And then he saw Holmes leaning against the sitting room door his eyes closed and exhaling deeply. _That's not a good sign _thought Watson worriedly.

"Holmes…" croaked Watson in concern.

Holmes opened his eyes and then widened in alarm as he observed a very weak doctor trying to stay upright against the doorframe. He rushed over catching his friend before his legs gave way completely and places a sinewy arm around his waist and supported him to the short journey to the couch.

"Watson what were you thinking, getting out of bed like that. You are not well enough yet to be up!" Came the concerned retort to Watson as Holmes settled him on the couch.

Watson sat back on the couch exhausted. The effort of getting up from his bed had exhausted him more than he anticipated and he closed his eyes to shut out the pain that wracked his body.

"I was concerned about you Holmes…" came the feeble reply.

Holmes sat down next to Watson and his initial anger softened as he took in what was just said. His Boswell was in pain and yet he had been concerned for him?

His Boswell broke the silence that had engulfed the room and reached out towards his friend.

"Holmes did you get them all? "

"Yes, they have all been taken into custody. It's all over now".

Watson slumped back in relief and rubbed his head, betraying the headache that was throbbing his temples.

"Good" replied Watson with a hint of anger.

They were interrupted with the sound of the door being opened and Mrs Hudson entered the room with a large tray which she placed on the dining table.

"Breakfast gentlemen" announced the Scottish landlady joyously. "And Dr Watson it is good to see you up and about at last. You had us very worried for the last few days"

She placed her hand in her pocket and brought out a telegram and handed it to Holmes.

"This arrived earlier for you Mr Holmes"

"Thank you Mrs Hudson "responded Holmes who took the telegram from his landlady with a flourish and read it.

"It is from Lestrade, Watson. He needs me to go back and add some more detail to the statement I gave him shortly after I found you. I can't put this off any longer. Will you be alright old fellow if I leave you for a few hours?"

The recovering patient smiled weakly,

"Of course, Holmes you must go and finish business with Lestrade".

Holmes looked at Watson with some concern and then collected his coat and scarf from his bedroom, throwing the coat round him.

"I won't be long my dear fellow. Please do try and eat some breakfast. I may treat my body as you have often remarked so often as a mere appendix, but I will not let you do the same". Said Holmes with concern but a twinkle in his eyes, taking over a plate of breakfast to Watson from the dining table.

With one last concerned look at his friend Holmes left albeit reluctantly. He would endeavour to get the visit to Lestrade done as quickly as possible.

****

Watson laughed half heartedly as Holmes left and acknowledged his friend's departure before once more finding himself alone but this time in more comfortable surroundings. He stared at the plate of bacon, sausages and fried egg that lay before him. He picked up a fork and stabbed at it. He was not hungry. He tried to eat something and did indeed have some breakfast but the majority of it laid untouched. He brushed it aside and stared at the fire for the next hour. As the flames danced in front of him, his mind wondered back inevitably toward the week of his captivity. He remembered the pain and cold. He remembered the emptiness of it all. He shivered as the memories assaulted him, one flashback after another and buried his face in his hands as if trying to block out the images from his mind. What he remembered most of all was the warm rush and oblivion that the drugs injected into his body brought him. Watson craved that feeling once more. He looked up at Holmes's desk and stared at the drawer in which he kept his syringe and velvet box in which the cocaine was kept. Watson moaned and struggled to fight back the demons in him

_You know you want more, to ride the warm rush once more, to let yourself dive into that hazy whirlpool. …noo I cannot. I must not….._

Watson found himself at Holmes's desk, he had not realised he had done so. The memories of the past week had overtaken his sense of reality. He opened the drawer and found what he was looking for. Staggering back to the warmth and comfort of the nearby chair and fire, he slumped back into the chair and looked at the velvet box. The material was seductive as touched the inside of the box. Soft and soothing. And inviting. He saw the needle and the drug next to it.

_Go on you want to. You miss the warmth, the rush, the blanket of comfort_

Within minutes the needle was inserted in Watson's arm and then the velvet box and syringe fell to the floor. He was slumped backwards in his chair barely conscious as he succumbed to the pain of the velvet box and knew nothing more.

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_Hahaha ! I do love cliffhangers !!! What will happen to Watson now? Hope you enjoyed this chapter and it was worth the wait !! Next chapter comming over the next two weeks, So stay tuned, and once again all reviews and comments most welcome._


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